“I like your scarf”
Says the mom, picking her kid up from daycare
“I like your scarf”
The teenager in Dundas Square says as we jostle past each other
“I like your scarf”
Says the lady in the grocery store as I reach around her to get the eggs
“I like your scarf”
I say to each and every person I pass wearing the white and black pattern
Around their neck
Their hair
Their bag
We all smile gently to each other as we say the phrase
Gesturing at our own chests, our own hearts
We know it’s not a compliment on the other’s sense of fashion
We know it’s not a throwaway comment
We know we are each choosing to use those words to say
I recognize you
I appreciate you
I hold you here with me
I always wonder where they got theirs
From family overseas
From someone’s backpack at a protest
From that one store in the east end that still might have stock
I remember getting mine
At a small shop in Bethlehem
After buying bread and walking in the cloudless day
Burying it in the most inner pocket of my backpack on the way home
So the IDF wouldn’t find it when they gave the cursory search of my bag.
I don’t wear it to doctor’s appointments
I don’t wear it to get food
I don’t wear it when I’m with the kid I look after
I’m too scared that it will affect how that person treats me, that it would endanger her
Which is why when I do wear it
Or when I see it on others
It’s important for us to remind each other
I see you
I like your scarf.
